The Lights I Hate
On my recent vacation, the resort I stayed at had a washroom with motion sensor lights. You know, the ones that go off if they don't detect any motion? Yeah, I hate them.
While I am doing my business there, which, mind you, takes time and involves very infrequent movement, the lights decide they better rest. As it goes pitch dark around me every few seconds, unwittingly, I am left dancing on the toilet. I must look so stupid -- I am glad no one's watching.
I remember one organisation I worked for had a vast, multi-level parking lot. It resembled the parking lots in movies where crimes are committed. It was so huge that it took minutes to walk to my car from the lift. At one of the most inopportune moments, I realised this parking lot also had motion sensor lights—regular lights with one spooky twist.
By the time I finished working that day, it was almost midnight. I took the lift to the 7th floor, where I'd parked my car. I descended into a pitch-dark lobby, except where I stepped out -- the light right above my head was the only one shining. And that stayed the case as I walked towards my car parked at the extreme other end of that eerie floor.
What twisted mind must have thought of such a lighting arrangement?
Every step I took towards my car switched on a light and turned off another. I was walking in a static spotlight surrounded by blinding darkness. I couldn't see or hear anything except the light and noise from my car as I kept locking and unlocking the bloody car. To not feel alone.
As I literally jogged to my car, I couldn't rid myself of the thought creeping within me -- someone was watching me clearly as I walked, and all I bloody see was darkness. Doesn't it sound like a subplot from a crime movie?
I am participating in Weblog Posting Month, 2024, by Anne Sturdivant, where I plan to publish one post every day in May narrating an incident from my life. Subscribe to my feed to follow along.